Maybe it's because I've moved around so much, or perhaps it's in my personality, or perhaps some of both; in any case I have never felt much of an attachment to a specific place. Some grow up and live a significant portion of their life - if not the entirety - in one location, either loving or hating it (I think one of those must be inevitable under the circumstances); others move around but are drawn to specific environs that impassion them. Neither of these has been my experience. However much I wish to be in the neighborhood of certain elements that my current home lacks, when I actually get them I take them in stride. It's rather depressing, actually - sort of an inability to feel the spirit of the land, or care.
Still, living near the water sure has its benefits. When I go down to the marina and sit on the dock and watch the wind on the waves, the many tiny ripples of raindrops hitting the water, the elegant, synchronized flight of geese just over the surface only a few yards from the bench on which I'm perched, I find tranquility I have not attained elsewhere. It's a kind of silence that is in the world rather than divorced from it - the sounds of the cars on the road back on shore, the hum of boats in their parking spaces, the cries of seagulls as they wheel over the water all give me peace without alienation. It may not be a windswept mountain peak, but it is in refreshingly stark contrast to the isolation that may be found in the other kind of privacy.
In related news, my comic sure is great. Nine out of ten cartoonists would recommend it if they knew about it!
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